


Tension

by MotherOfCatsAndDragons



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherOfCatsAndDragons/pseuds/MotherOfCatsAndDragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For three years, there was nothing between them but tension. femHawke x Anders</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Healing

**Author's Note:**

> I do not apologize for my fangirl-ism.

#  **I: Healing**

 

 

The door to his clinic swung open and across the threshold was she, clad in silver-blue robes, her brown hair tied in a loose low ponytail. As she walked forward towards him, Anders felt his breath catching. A corner of her lips was lifted and her blue eyes glinted with an innocent maleficence. She _knew_ , Anders realized, what feelings she incited in him and, no matter how often he begged her to, she had no intention to stop.

“Had I known you’d be uneasy, I wouldn’t have come,” Hawke half-joked.

“You’re lying,” Anders accused.

Hawke sighed and shrugged. “You’ve busted me again. But really, can you blame me for trying to lighten up the mood? You’ve been all dark and brooding around me ever since the Deep Roads.” She gave him a look of exaggerated hurt. “You didn’t even come to see my new place!”

Her words drove guilt right into Anders’s heart. The Deep Roads… “I’m sorry, Hawke.”

She blew the hairs in front of her face and harrumphed. “You weren’t sorry back then.”

Unbidden, images came to his mind; images of Eleanor Hawke, sitting by the fire, staying vigilant while the others slept. Anders felt his insides churning as he remembered her body, just lightly grazing his. Some of his hair had escaped its bindings and she tucked it back behind his ear, leaning forward so that she could place her lips by his ear, whispering “ _I can think of something that will help you sleep_ ”. Where her breath touched, his skin prickled; her hands moved to his shoulders and she looked at him. She was biting into her lower lip and her eyes were so wide, so tentative…

Anders shook his head, hoping it would shake the memories off his mind as well. “You, lady, are very evil.”

“Please. If I didn’t know you enjoyed this as much as I do, I wouldn’t do it.”

Her words were, unfortunately, true. That she kept on showing interest in him, flirting with him, teasing him even though he told her it was best she kept her distance… Even though Justice disagreed, Anders couldn’t help but like it. It made him tense, yes, and frustrated as well, but deep down, he didn’t want her to stop – he just wanted to give in.

But with Justice… he couldn’t give in. He knew he would end up breaking her heart and the pain the thought of it alone caused him was reason enough for him to tell her to stop.

“Really, Hawke, why are you here?”

“Oh, that.” Her tone was flippant. “I have been studying.”

Anders frowned. “You came here to tell me you’ve been studying?”

Hawke smiled. She was a very beautiful woman but somehow, she was even more so when she smiled. “I’ve been studying Spirit Healing techniques lately. Figured they’d come in handy sooner or later. So… if the next patient doesn’t have something overcomplicated… Can I try to heal them?” asked an eager Hawke.

“You… want to try healing?”

Given how many times they had needed healing in combat, Anders wagered Hawke was probably right. Still, to let her try on one of his patients… “I don’t know, Hawke.”

“But here I have you… And who better to correct me if I’m doing something wrong?” She was almost pleading, with her lips in a pout and looking at him from under her lashes. “You’ll teach me, Anders. I know you will.”

“You’re always so awfully certain of everything, Hawke.”

“Yes. Makes it harder to refuse, doesn’t it?”

Anders sighed. “Fine - _but_ only if the patient has something minor I know you won’t screw up.”

Her eyes shone with excitement and she threw him a happy, wide smile. She was such a pretty thing and sometimes she could look so deceitfully innocent… Anders wished he could pin her to the wall and kiss her just to wipe that smile off her face.

Lucky for him, someone knocked on the door of the clinic. A worried elven woman with a feverish kid by her side; then came a large group, concerned about a disease that was spreading in the house where they lived like cramped ants. More people came, until finally, a kid with a broken arm showed up. It had happened recently, so there were no complications to speak of.

Anders called Hawke forward. When in the battlefield, he had seen her heal a wound once in a while, but always uncontrollably. That she was seeking practice was probably good, as it would keep her from exhausting herself in some of the dire situation she often found herself in.

He was behind her, not close enough to touch but close enough to feel the heat of her body. “Now, you look at the wound, touch it, see what’s broken. Can you see it?” Hawke nodded.

“It’s a bone. That’s why the arm is so swollen.”

“Correct. Now, you use your magic to make it whole again.”

Hawke closed her eyes. Her hands hovered above the broken arm, emanating a slightly blue light. She frowned and, for a moment, the blue light was gone. “Focus, Eleanor,” Anders whispered on her ear. “Picture the bone as mended. Here, I’ll guide you.”

She grimaced and Anders could tell she was biting back some sort of sly response. She remained quiet, however, and did as he had told her. His hands occasionally brushed hers while he was guiding her and his heart clenched every time it happened.

“There it is.” Anders held Hawke’s hands, stopping them. “Now, mend it.”

Hawke’s lids were slammed shut and her forehead and nose were wrinkled. A wave of energy traveled from her hands to the arm and she fell back against Anders, her body almost completely limp. Anders held her by the waist, steadying Hawke’s balance. She was flushed and breathing heavily. “So, how did I do?” she asked.

Anders moved to inspect his patient’s arm. Even though the skin was still purple, the bone was fully healed. “You did well, Hawke,” he told her. “You used more magic than what would normally be required, but that... Only practice makes that perfect.”

The rest of the day continued with Anders treating his patients while Hawke watched over his shoulder, inspecting everything he did. At first, it was disconcerting to have her there, but as the way went on and the number of patients waned, Anders grew more and more accustomed to her constant scrutiny. She even tried her hand at healing some other minor injuries that showed up.

Time went by so fast whenever he was with her… Anders only noticed it was already dark when Hawke closed the clinic’s door behind the last patients. She was visibly exhausted. “Healing is… tiring,” she confessed while taking a hand to her forehead as though to take her temperature.

“Until you get used to it, yes,” said Anders.

“I’m good at getting used to things,” she playfully noted. “Except for rejection; I just can’t get used to rejection.”

He raised a brow. “Rejection? Who’s been rejecting you?”

“Why, you of course,” Hawke said. Her tone wasn’t accusing or hurtful. It was neutral, as though she just wanted to state a fact. But no matter how flat her voice was, her words still stung. True, Anders had rejected her advances, but it was just because he wanted to protect her. Her advances, yes, he had rejected those, but her? He hadn’t rejected _her_. Anders wasn’t even sure he could.

“Don’t say that,” Anders pleaded.

“No?” she moved towards him. “Then why don’t you want me?”

“You know it’s not that.”

She stopped when she was just a mere step away. “I’m not sure I know.”

“Hawke-”

“Why aren’t you calling me Eleanor?” She pouted. “You did it when you told me to focus. And I like it when you call me by my first name.”

He liked it too. But to do it was to invite proximity. He had let it slip before, hoping that calling her by her first name would force her to focus.

Maker, he was trying to convince himself – or rather, Justice was trying to convince him getting involved with Eleanor Hawke was a bad idea - again. _Obsessed_ , a voice in his head said. _What you feel for her is a dangerous obsession._

She placed a hand on the side of his face. Her touch was warm, so warm, like her voice… “Anders-”

He moved her hand away, but did not let go of it. “I can’t let you do that.”

“But I want you to. And I know you want the same.”

_It’s an obsession… All you want is to have something beautiful which you can break later – and who better than her?_

Anders couldn’t help himself anymore. Justice raged, tried to take over, but for the moment it took for Anders to put his hands on Hawke’s hips, he didn’t pay any attention to him. He drew her close so that her chest was pressing against his. Her hands went to his hair; Anders hissed when her nails dug into his scalp.

His chest was tight when she bit into his neck. He could feel she, too, was tense with blind, relentless desire. Anders did not know why she wanted him, or all people. Hawke could have anyone else she wanted, and yet… She was here, with him.

She then planted a kiss on the edge of his jaw, then another and another. With each kiss, Hawke’s lips moved dangerously towards his. He wanted that kiss to happen. He wanted her, only her, and no one else in the world. Hawke was just… something else. There was no other way to put it. And for that, Anders wanted to forget everything and just give in. But Justice was there, angry, reminding him he would only hurt her.

And the thought of seeing her get hurt just because he was obsessed with her… Anders could not bear it. Which is why, when her lips were nothing but a hair’s breadth apart from his, he pushed her away. “I don’t want to hurt you _,_ ” he said.

“I’ve told you. You can hurt me.” She edged closer towards him again.

“Hawke, please. Stop.”

And, begrudgingly, she did. A flush rose to her cheeks as she stepped back. “I’ll leave you alone, then,” she whispered, and her tone was almost bashful. She turned her back and walked out of the clinic, leaving nothing but thick, heavy tension behind her.

And for that night and the ones that followed, Anders was left with nothing but that cursed tension to keep him company.


	2. Drunk

# Drunk

 

 

Drunk. She was so very drunk.

“Seven years without sex if someone cheers and you don’t drink!” Hawke squealed.

“You didn’t call for a cheer,” Isabela pointed out. “You just touched your glass to mine.”

“And that’s a cheer! Now drink. Or you won’t have sex for seven years!”

Isabela drank the small glass of firewater and grimaced. “Seven years without sex wouldn’t be bad, considering I had the worst sex of my life last night,” Isabela complained. “Never have sex with a virgin boy, Hawke.”

 “What are you complaining about, Isabela? _I’m_ having the worst sex at the moment.” Hawke took a large swig from her mug of ale.

Isabela arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware you were having sex.”

“I’m not and that’s exactly it. The worst sex you can have is of the non-existent kind.”

Isabela laughed heartily. “Don’t tell me we’re going to have to take you to the Blooming Rose tonight!”

Hawke’s smile was lopsided. “I’d rather _not_ spend my birthday in a brothel, thank you.”

“Then where would you rather spend it? Or rather… with _whom_?” Isabela asked shrewdly.

“Oh, Isabela, you’re fishing for it again.” Hawke drank some more of her ale. “I’m not talking to you about this.”

“It’s so cute when you do that, Hawke.”

“Do what?”

“Refuse to talk about that huge crush you have on a certain possessed mage.”

Hawke felt all the blood was rushing to her cheeks. She looked at the wall, purposefully averting Isabela’s gaze. “I do not want to talk about that.”

Isabela rolled her eyes. “Really, Hawke, I’m only letting this go because it’s your birthday.”

“Please do not remind me it’s my birthday and I’m spending it at the Hanged Man,” Hawke sighed. “How did you and Varric ever manage to convince me?”

“From what I recall, you didn’t need much convincing. You weren’t keen on getting drunk in front of your mother,” Varric said as he sat beside Hawke. “Happy birthday, Hawke – all your drinks are on me today.”

Hawke raised her mug to him. “And they say it’s not good to be friends with merchant princes. Today I get to drink all the stale ale I want for free!”

At that, Isabela’s eyes widened. “Hey, do you think today will finally be the day we get Merrill drunk?” Isabella asked. “I always try to get her to drink something, but she always refuses.”

“Today, we will _all_ drink!” Hawke exclaimed. “I’ll be damned if I spend my birthday here and don’t get myself and all my friends drunk!”

“Good luck getting Anders drunk.” said Varric. “It’s going to be harder than to get Merrill to sip at your beer. He says he hasn’t touched the stuff since the whole Justice merge thing.”

Isabela waved a hand. “Hush, Varric. Don’t talk about Anders in front of Hawke today – she got surly when I did it five minutes ago.”

Varric furrowed his brows. “Still nursing that bad idea, Hawke?”

Hawke drank some more. “Shut up.”

“She’s _pining_ for him,” Isabella joked. “She really is! Look at her blush!” She reached across the table to pinch Hawke’s cheeks. “Isn’t it cute when she does this?”

Hawke brushed Isabela’s hand off her face and scowled angrily at the pirate. “You are so annoying sometimes.”

Varric laughed. “You two are already drunk!”

“We’re not drunk!” Isabela’s tone suggested that Varric had just said something outrageous when really, he had been right. Hawke squinted at her mug as she tried to remember how many mugs of beer she’d already emptied. She looked helplessly at Isabela, who appeared to guess her plight and conceded. “Ok. Maybe we’re a tiny bit intoxicated. I swear we only drank ten – eleven, tops – mugs of ale.” She stopped to think for a bit and then added, “And one glass of firewater each. As you can see, we didn’t drink that much.”

“Nah.” Both of Varric’s face and tone were deadpan. “You’re just on a very good path to drink this place dry.”

Hawke raised a hand, suddenly becoming very serious. “Aveline!” she whispered. “She’s going to tell my mother!”

As though she had heard her, Aveline’s eyes darted instantly to Hawke. She shook her head in a mixture of disapproval and amusement. “Hawke,” she said when she was by their table. “As drunk as a skunk. Why am I not surprised?”

Hawke smiled, her lips stretched so wide it was a wonder she didn’t pull a muscle. “It’s my birthday, Aveline! Congratulate me!”

“This is your fault, Isabela,” the guard told the pirate.

Isabela shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a bad influence on her.”

Hawke giggled. “Come on, Aveline! Sit and have a drink with us!” She kicked the chair next to Isabela. “It’s not every day I turn twenty-three!”

“And they say the years are supposed to make you wiser.” Aveline rolled her eyes, but sat down next to Isabela and told the barmaid to bring her ale. “But I can’t stay for long,” she told Hawke. “I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

Hawke emptied her mug and slammed it down on the table, hard. “No one is leaving this place sober tonight! Not me and certainly not you, Aveline!”

The guard looked at Varric. “I’m not taking her home.”

“Did you hear that, Hawke? Aveline is dodging the arrow!” Isabella pointed out.

“She always does,” Hawke mused. “Anyway, Fenris can escort me. We live close to each other anyway.” She looked at the door. “And speaking of the demon…It appears he’s brought _Agreggio_!” Hawke spread her arms and hugged the much surprised former slave.  “Fenris! It’s so nice to see you!”

“Happy birthday, Hawke,” Fenris said, handing her the bottle.

“I hate that wine,” complained Isabela. “It’s so good you can’t get drunk on it.”

“This is for appreciation, Isabela,” Fenris said. “Not to get drunk.”

“And I see no point in drinking without getting drunk.”

“Oh, shut up, Isabela!” Hawke took the bottle from Fenris. “I get to drink something that doesn’t taste like piss. Also, it appears I’m already hammered, so…” She made to drink from the bottle, but just looked at it with distaste.

“Wow, you really _are_ drunk,” Fenris noted with surprise. “You didn’t even remember to open the bottle.”

Hawke passed the Agreggio to Varric, who proceeded to open it. “Oh, look, Merrill’s arrived.”

The elf shyly made her way through the Hanged Man, a small, potted tree in her arms. “Hello, everyone. Hawke.” She dallied for a bit. “I, um… wasn’t sure of what to give you, so…” She gave Hawke the tree. “Happy birthday.”

“It’s adorable!” Hawke smiled as she hugged Merrill. “Thank you, Merrill! I swear I’ll try not to have you water it for me!”

“I didn’t know birthdays made you so happy, Hawke,” the elf said. Fenris snorted. “It’s not just her birthday that’s making her happy,” he said, handing Merrill the Agreggio. “Here, try some of this grape juice.”

“Grape juice?” Merrill eyed the bottle suspiciously. “Isn’t this a wine bottle?”

“We’ve already drunk it all,” Hawke said. “And we had it filled it with grape juice just for you! If it were wine, don’t you think it’d be empty?”

“Yes, it’s really just grape juice, Merrill,” Isabela said. “Before you came, I was complaining to Fenris about how I cannot get drunk on the contents of that bottle.”

Aveline shook her head, but said nothing. Varric asked Norah for more drinks and some empty glasses, which she promptly brought. “Here, Daisy.” He gave Merrill a glass. “Drink some of that juice.”

Merrill obliged. “It, um… tastes funny. But it’s good.” She drank again.

“Hawke!” Isabela hissed between chuckles. “Hawke! Stop laughing!”

Hawke tried to bury her face on her newly-filled ale mug, but she was shaking so hard from laughing she had to set it down until she calmed down.

“What’s so funny?” asked an innocent Merrill.

“Hawke’s drunk,” said Aveline. “Don’t pay attention to her.”

“Yes. Drink more juice,” Isabela added, filling Merrill’s glass to the brim. “Drink all of it up.”

“You know what might be nice in here?” Merrill mused, looking at the glass. “Apples. Oranges. You know, fruit. And a little bit of extra sugar.” She sipped and licked her lips afterwards. “Oh, and _lime_! Lime would be so nice in here!”

“Can we get lime?” Hawke asked Varric. “Norah!” She shouted. “Can we get lime? And firewater?”

The waitress nodded and disappeared for a few moments before she brought two sliced limes to the table. Hawke downed a glass of firewater and bit into a slice of lime – she then squeezed some juice into Merrill’s glass and told the elf to drink it up. Merrill obeyed her; the elf’s cheeks were turning very bright red.
    
    
    Hawke pointed to the ceiling with both hands and began to slowly move them in circles as she sang a modified version of particular catchy tune, “Merrill put the lime in the grape juice, she drank 'em both up. Merrill put the lime in the grape juice, she drank 'em both up.” 
    
    
    “Maker, not that song,” Aveline moaned. 
    
    
    “Why not?” asked Isabela. “It’s a fun song.” She waited for Hawke to finish a rhyme and joined her. “And Merrill put the lime in the grape juice, she drank 'em both up. Lime in the grape juice, lime in the grape juice.”
    
    
    “All right. I’m leaving,” Aveline said.
    
    
    “But, Aveline, you can’t!” Hawke held another glass of firewater. “You have to drink with me! We’re on a quest to get drunk tonight and I’m not letting you give up.”

“I have work in the morning, Hawke,” Aveline impatiently stated.

“You’re Captain. Be late just this once!” She set a glass of firewater in front of Aveline and touched it to hers. “Now cheers! And if someone says that you have to drink. Or you’ll be without sex for seven years!”

“Aren’t trying to achieve that,” Isabela mocked.

Aveline drank her firewater. So did Hawke. “You think it’ll be seven years before I get laid? Oh no – that’s _not_ going to happen. I cheered and I drank. There is no curse over me.”

“Pfft.” Isabela drew a deck of cards from her bag and started shuffling it. “Now, who wants to play cards?”

“I don’t. Not against you, anyway,” said Varric.

“Same here,” said Hawke.

“I have work tomorrow and I need to go-” Aveline began, but was cut off when Hawke forced her to drink by touching Aveline’s glass with her own. “Maker be damned, Hawke!”

“Would you rather risk it?” Hawke said, her eyes glinting shrewdly.

Aveline scowled at her, but drank nonetheless.

“I’ll play!” Merrill happily squealed. Hawke changed places with her so she’d be in front of Isabela. She looked at the door, secretly hoping to find someone standing there. Hawke was beginning to worry Anders wouldn’t show – after all, Justice wasn’t a fan of drinking. Hawke noticed she was frowning and she tried to change the expression. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw the door swinging open.

Her whole face lit up when she saw the mage and a smile broke through her lips. It was as though Anders showing up had filled Hawke with a happiness so great she couldn’t contain it. She hurriedly went to meet him at the door.

“Happy birthday, Eleanor,” Anders said, handing her a book.

“A book on healing!” exclaimed Hawke. “Is it so I won’t come visit you so often?”

“Exactly,” Anders joked. “It’s one of my old manuals. Hopefully, it’ll help you as much as it did me.”

“Thank you, Anders.” She placed a kiss on his cheek, allowing her lips to linger there for a moment before she took one of his hands in hers and led him to the table. His skin was as cold as the winter night outside. “Come. We’re celebrating.”

Anders couldn’t help but notice that Hawke was not walking straight. She seemed confused even, but when he saw the pile of empty mugs and glasses on that table, he understood why.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asked his fellow mage.

“Um…” Hawke brought down her eyebrows, her forehead creasing in deep thought. “Not much?” she tentatively said. “I’ve only been drinking since six.”

“Since _six_?”

She turned to him. “Anders.” Hawke put her hands on his shoulders. “Anders. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Then you’re jealous. Just don’t pay attention to Justice today and join me in some alcohol-induced fun!” she held his face between her hands and kissed him on the cheek again. “I know you miss it.”

Whether she was talking about drinking or something else, Anders didn’t know. However, he _did_ miss both of those things. If it weren’t for Justice… If it weren’t for him, he could forget about everything and just give in.

“You know I can’t do anything about it,” he stated.

“Bullshit. If you want to drink, just do. Let your spirit take a vacation from controlling you today!” She handed him a small glass, filled with a transparent liquid. “Just drink one for me… Please?”

She was pouting now, as she often did when she wanted something from him. She was perfectly aware that Anders found it very hard to say “No” to that look. Unfortunately for her, this wasn’t something Justice would let him mess around with.

Anders looked down at the glass. He really did miss getting drunk… “I really can’t, Hawke.”

“But even Merrill is drinking tonight!” Hawke exclaimed.

Anders blinked in confusion. “Wait. Merrill?”

“Yes. But she doesn’t know, so keep your voice down.” Hawke held the glass in front of Anders’s eyes. “How would you feel if you were the only sober person in this place? Hmm?”

“I’m not getting drunk, Hawke.”

“Bah. You’re no fun.” Hawke drained both her and his glass. She traced his jaw with her index finger, muttering, “No, you’re not fun. You’re just cruel.”

Before Anders could ask why, Isabela was beside Hawke. “Hawke, let’s go get more drinks!” Isabela almost ordered, dragging Hawke along by the arm, away from Anders. They went directly to the bar, where Isabela asked for a couple of mugs of ale.

Isabela took Hawke’s mug directly from Corff’s hands and held it hostage. “Seriously, Hawke, all this pent-up tension is going to drive you mad.” Hawke was mildly annoyed that Isabela had been watching her, but it was _Isabela_ and Isabela was the only person who talked to Hawke about these things. So, she let the annoyance slide.

Hawke chuckled.

“Did I say something funny?” asked Isabela.

“The pent-up tension might drive me mad,” Hawke said, eyes glinting with mischief. “But I’ll make sure it does the same to him. Now give me the ale. I’m going to play cards with Fenris.”

Isabela stared at Hawke, who was barely managing to walk straight. Isabela, who had a much more honed tolerance to alcohol, was feeling a little bit tipsy as well, but she still had expected Hawke to handle her liquor better.

And, quite frankly, watching her drunk around Anders was painful. Hawke was one of the few people Isabela had ever considered to be a friend and to let her go to waste on someone who kept saying no… She drank crudely from her mug and wiped her lips with her arm. She was going to talk to Anders.

He was leaning against a table near where Hawke was playing against Fenris, her contagious laugh filling up the room. Isabela approached him from behind and whispered into his ear. “You know, Anders, if you keep pushing her back, she will eventually give up.” Anders looked sideways at Isabela before saying, “It’s better for her that way.”

“Anders, you look at the way Fenris watches her and honestly tell me it doesn’t bother you.” Isabela nodded towards the elf, who was sitting across Hawke. “Just one word, one gesture from her-”

“Stop it, Isabela.”

“So it _does_ bother you. Good. I was beginning to worry it was all in her head and she was obsessing with the one person who didn’t want to…” She cocked her head to the side. “You know, take her out for a spin.”

Anders squinted at the pirate, hoping she would shut up. Unfortunately, she didn’t. “It’s the way she talks, the way she moves. There’s something quite mesmerizing about it, something I can’t quite put my finger on. Heck, _I_ would take Hawke out for a spin.”

“Is there anyone you wouldn’t take out for a spin?”

“Yes. Why do people think I have no standards?”

“Because you don’t,” stated Anders.

“Well, regardless of that – she’s a pretty thing, Hawke. You both are blatantly attracted to each other. Why don’t you just go for it?”

Anders didn’t bother to give Isabela a reply. He just looked at her, disapprovingly.

“Oh. Justice. Right.” Isabela drank some ale. “Just make it a threesome, then.”

“You did not just say that,” Anders said, taking a hand to his forehead.

“I’m afraid I did. So you had better sort out whatever is making you back away from her before Hawke decides she can do better.”

“Who, Fenris?” Anders asked derisively. “I hardly think former slave is a step up from possessed mage.”

Isabela patted Anders on the shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll believe it one day.”

“Here you go, Anders,” it was Varric who was speaking. He was standing beside him, offering him a mug of ale. “Have a taste before Hawke and Isabela drink this place dry.”

“I cannot drink,” said Anders.

“No, you cannot _get drunk_. There’s a difference.”

Anders looked at Hawke, who was now refusing to hand over her cards to a very persistent Isabela. “I bet Isabela disagrees.”

“She does. But I don’t believe you’re the type to do what Isabela thinks is right.” Varric hissed when the pirate gave Hawke the slip, stealing her cards and knocking her out of her seat. Hawke squeaked “Isabela!” but the pirate just told her to keep quiet and “Watch how one wins a game of cards.”

“Have a drink for Hawke, will you?” Varric said as the mage approached them, rubbing one of her elbows.

“Did you see that? And I wasn’t even losing that badly! And why are you drinking _now_ , Anders?” Hawke crossed her arms over her chest. Whenever she got drunk, she got visibly more upset about the silliest things. “When _I_ was offering you drinks, you refused! Give me that!” She made to steal his drink, but all Hawke managed instead was a stagger, which caused Anders to put an arm around her waist to steady her.

“Well, you can’t even stand by yourself now,” Aveline dryly observed. “I’m going home now. It’s getting pretty late.”

“Avelineee…” Hawke prolonged Aveline’s name and giggled. “You’re all red!”

“You should take a look at yourself, _Eleanor_.”

“Ouch. I hate it when you say my name like that. So disa,” Hawke bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling, stammering on the word. “Disapprovingly!” She triumphantly exclaimed after some time.

Aveline just shook her head and turned to Anders, who was still holding on to Hawke. “See that she gets home. If she doesn’t, it’s on you.”

“Why me?” asked Anders.

Aveline said nothing; she just looked at him for a while, her expression one of condescendence, and then left.

“Why me?” Anders repeated to Varric, who grinned.

“I believe it’s obvious,” the dwarf said. “Isn’t it, Eleanor?”

Hawke wrinkled her nose. “Why are you calling me by my first name? You never call me by my first name! No one does!”

“Today we do,” said Varric. “And for the record, I’ll be adding tonight to the list of tales about you.”

“Pff. Like I care,” Hawke said nonchalantly. Hawke was now dawdling on certain syllables and she seemed to notice it, for she buried her head in Anders’s shoulder.

“And I’m telling everyone on how you jumped Anders. Little after you met him, in his clinic, in the Deep Roads… Well, several times where you thought I wasn’t looking,” Varric joked. Hawke turned her head to speak, but Anders spoke before she could say anything offensive. “Come on, Hawke. Let’s find someplace for you to lie down,” he offered.

As he passed the table where their friends were sitting, Anders couldn’t help but notice Merrill’s cheeks were a very deep pink and that she was shamelessly giggling at something Isabela had just said. Even Fenris seemed relaxed.

“See? Everyone is drunk but you,” Hawke said against his neck.

“You, most of all,” Anders shot back at her. He sat her on a bench at the back of the tavern, and then sat next to her. Hawke drunkenly lay down on the bench, placing her head on Anders’s lap. “The room is spinning,” she said. “Make it stop.”

“Of course it is,” Anders whispered. He felt a wave of disapproval forming inside him, but he brushed it aside, knowing it came from Justice. He would never, ever disapprove of her.

“You wished you were drunk,” Hawke stated.

“Yes,” Anders conceded. “I kind of do, yes.”

Hawke intertwined her fingers in his and brought his knuckles to her face. With his free hand, Anders brushed her hair. Eleanor closed her eyes and smiled softly. She didn’t care what people thought when they looked at her, with her head in Anders’s lap. Her heart would always be so full when she looked at him; her breath would quicken whenever he touched her and her ears would drum at the sound of his voice. All she wanted was to be with him. Hawke didn’t know why – she just knew that she did.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when Anders spoke again. “We have to get you home,” he said.

“I like it like this,” whispered Hawke “I don’t want to move.”

“You have to, Hawke. As much as I’d love to be your pillow, you just can’t sleep here.”

“Fine, then. I’ll move.” She quickly got up, but instead of sitting next to him, she chose to sit across his lap instead. She lowered her head so that it rested on his shoulder and placed her index finger on his lips, signaling him not to speak.

“I don’t know what it is about you, but… I’m drawn to you,” she murmured. “I don’t know why. I just am.”

She heard Anders swallow. “Hawke…”

“What did you do to me?” she asked, her tone still soft.

He wanted to ask her the same thing. There were thought in his head that told him she had bewitched him, but Anders knew they weren’t true. They weren’t really his as well.

“Why won’t you stop teasing me, Hawke?”

“Because I’ve seen how you look at me.” She brought the hand she was holding to her lips. “Because I know that if it weren’t for Justice disapproving on me, we could…” her voice trailed away. “I’m drunk. Don’t mind me,” she said.

“I see you’re finally admitting it,” Anders said. “Good. Maybe now we can take you home.”

“Is Merrill drunk yet?”

Anders didn’t have to look at the table to know the answer. “Everyone but me is drunk.”

“Oh. Good.” She got up and yawned loudly, extending her arms above her. “I’m sleepy,” she complained.

“That’s because you _were_ asleep for a while,” Anders told her.

Hawke put a hand over her face, blushing. “Oh, Maker… I swear I’m never letting Isabela convince me drinking in the morning is a good idea.”

“Wait – I thought you’d said you only started drinking at six!”

“Yeah, well, I lied. Isabela came by my place at ten in the morning and we started drinking then,” Hawke said. “Want advice? Never start the day with a glass of white wine.” She looked at her friends and screamed, “Isabela! This is all your fault!”

“At least none of us fell asleep!” Isabela replied. “Fenris and I are as good as new.”

Fenris raised a glass to Isabela. “That we are. But Merrill…”

Hawke’s eyes moved to Merrill. “What about you?”

Merrill waved her hands in front of her face. “I’m not feeling too well.”

Hawke and Isabela exchanged a look of concern. “Has she thrown up yet?”

“What?” Merrill interjected. “I don’t want to throw up. I don’t-”

“Quick! Get a bucket!” Isabela said. Varric ran to the bar, but he was much too late. By the time the bucket was brought, Merrill was already retching. Hawke was holding back the elf’s hair and Isabela had a hand on Merrill’s forehead. “At least you were not the only one throwing up today, Hawke.”

Merrill spat into the bucket Varric had brought. “What? You were throwing up earlier?”

“I did this earlier today, actually,” said Hawke. “It’s just because of the alcohol, Merrill. Don’t worry.”

“I feel like someone is stabbing me in the head,” Merrill whined. “Why did get me drunk?”

“Because we were drunk?” Isabella offered. “It’s good for you to let go once in a while, Merrill. And it was Hawke’s birthday and she wanted everyone to share her happy-go-drunk state.” Merrill retched again and Isabela softly caressed her forehead.

“Poor Daisy,” Varric said. “I shouldn’t have let them do this to you.”

“This is good for her. She’s getting out of the house, trying new things,” Isabela said. “The more you drink, the more resistance you build, Merrill. Soon, that wine won’t be able to get you drunk anymore.”

“Why did I ever think it was juice?” Merrill cried.

“Oh, sweetie – because that wine tastes like very rich grape juice. You can barely notice the alcohol.” Isabela knelt in front of Merrill. “Better?” The elf nodded. “Good. I’ll get you home, then. Let’s go.” She helped Merrill up. “See you tomorrow, Hawke.”

“See you,” said Merrill.

Once they were gone, Hawke bit down her lip. “I feel responsible for that.”

“You _are_ responsible for that,” Fenris stated.

“Oh, shut it, Fenris. You were in it as well.”

“We better get these two drunkards home,” Varric told Anders. “I don’t trust them to go alone.”

Anders agreed. “Hawke is coming to, but she’s still in no state to go alone; Fenris looks happy for the first time ever, though. I think he should drink more often.”

“Indeed,” Hawke agreed. “Hey, Fenris! I’m going home. Are you coming?”

“No,” the elf replied. “I don’t feel like going home and being drunk all by myself, thank you.”

“All right then.” Hawke placed a hand on his shoulder and bent down to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you.”

Fenris squeezed her hand; Anders couldn’t help but notice the elf was blushing. “I’ll see you, Eleanor.”

For a moment, Eleanor looked at Fenris. She was perfectly aware that, if she were inclined to do so, she’d find comfort somewhere else. However, she did not want to. She only wanted Anders and she was sure the feeling was mutual. If was only that spirit that stood between them and it saddened her that she probably would never be able to get past it.

But against all odds, she still hoped.

She picked up the plant Merrill had offered her and Anders’s book. She turned to Varric, who was still drinking. “Bye, o handsome storyteller,” she said.

“Kiss my ass all you want, Hawke.” Varric was smirking. “I’m telling all about this night to whoever asks about your drunken adventures.”

Hawke puffed. “Dammit!” She kissed Varric on the cheek as well. “Well, take care, anyway.”

“You too, Eleanor,” Varric said. “And be careful out there.”

“I will,” she reassured with a smile. She handed Anders the plant and the book. “You carry those. I want them to get to my house intact.”

Anders sighed. “Bye Varric. Fenris,” he said.

The journey to Hawke’s estate proved uneventful. It was winter and the number of bandits willing to venture outside was quite low compared to when the nights were hot. Once inside Hawke’s estate, Anders set both the plant and the book down on the first table he saw. Save for the fire cackling, the house was silent.

Hawke had moved closer to the fire and was holding out her hands for warmth. Within seconds that felt like hours, Anders was standing next to her. “No wonder Justice disapproves of me,” she whispered. “Getting drunk and making you come all the way here.”

“Sweetheart, it’s not of you Justice disapproves, per se,” Anders confessed. “It’s of…” he shut his mouth as though he’d said too much already. “It doesn’t matter. Just know that it’s not you who are the problem. It’s me.”

“It’s not you,” Eleanor whispered. “If it were just you, there wouldn’t be a problem to begin with.”

“And that is why you have to listen to me. I will only hurt you, Eleanor.”

“I want _you_ to hurt me. If it means being with you, then I’m fine with it.”

Anders’s face softened. “Eleanor… You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“I do know what I’m saying. I’ll take you as you are, possessed or not. I just want you.”

He knew she meant to somehow comfort him, but all Hawke was managing to do was break his heart. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand how hard it is for me.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, but his grip was soft rather than violent. “I want you more than anything I’ve wanted in my life. But there’s a part of me – a part that _isn’t_ me, but that’s _in_ me nonetheless – that tells me getting involved with your will be the worst thing I could possibly do to you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care.”

“Maker, Eleanor! Stop making this so hard-”

She covered his mouth with hers. Such a soft, warm touch, so sweet and tender… Without thinking, Anders brought her closer and his arms snaked around her waist. Hawke melted against him, and he felt the luscious curves of her body with his hands.

So beautiful, so fragile, so fiery… And all she wanted was to be with him.

 _You’re just obsessing_ , thoughts that Anders didn’t recognize as his slithered into his mind. _She has bewitched you and she will force you to grow sloppy and you’ll give up on everything you’re fighting for._

Anders knew Hawke. And he knew she wouldn’t want to change who he was. She wouldn’t want him to give up on all he stood for. She wouldn’t-

_She would! I disapprove of this growing fixation, this… ridiculous obsession._

The thoughts only stopped when she pulled her lips away from his, her breath ragged and uneven. Anders touched his forehead to hers. “You have to stop this. You’ll only drive us both mad.”

Hawke smiled, disentangling herself from him. “Good night, Anders.” She kissed the corner of his lips. Anders grabbed her arms and looked at her, just looked. Then, he kissed her in the same place she had kissed him; he felt a wave of heat building inside him, begging him to give in, but…

“Good night, Hawke,” he whispered. And with that, he was gone from her place, the touch of her lips still lingering on his and that pent-up tension between them now stronger than ever.


	3. Tease

# Tease

 

“These cakes are an absolute tease,” Hawke said before she bit into a cream-covered cupcake. “They’re an Orlesian treat, apparently – and they’re so much better than Fereldan cookies.”

Merrill looked at her friend, then at the cake in front of her, with wide eyes. “It’s… so pretty. I’m not sure I want to eat it.”

“Orlesian cakes are not meant to be looked at – they’re meant to be eaten.” Hawke sipped from her tea. “If they weren’t so delicious, I wouldn’t have purposely brought them to you.”

Merrill picked the cake with extreme care. “You say Varric and Isabela loved them?”

“Isabella, Varric, Aveline and Fenris. They all loved them.”

“How did you manage to get Fenris to eat a cake?” Merrill pouted.

Hawke shrugged. “It was pretty easy, actually. Should you ever want him to stop pestering you about your Blood Magic, all you have to do is learn how to bake these.”

“When the Grey Warden was in our camp,” said Merrill. “She had this Qunari warrior with her. Very big, scary guy. Anyway, they spent the night at our camp and, after dinner, he would eat these very small cookies.”

Hawke expectantly looked at Merrill, and when the elf didn’t go on, she asked, “And?”

“Oh. He was a warrior, like Fenris. So… all warriors like sweets?” Merrill let out a nervous laugh before she finally bit into her cake. “Oh my!” she exclaimed, licking the frosting off her lips. “It’s so moist and rich!” She bit into the cake again.

“I knew you’d like them,” Hawke said.

Merrill eyed the two boxes resting on her table. “You’re planning on leaving those here?”

“No. Just one,” Hawke said. “I’m on an apology marathon for what I did on my birthday. I gave some to Varric because of the tab he was left to pay, Aveline because I wanted her to go to work on a hangover, Fenris because he was left to drink alone and Isabela…” Hawke stopped to think. “Wait. Why did I give her “I’m sorry” cakes? It was her fault I was slobbering drunk to begin with!”

Merrill giggled. “Were mine because I threw up?”

“Yes. Yours are because I got you drunk and subsequently made you throw up. Although…” Hawke frowned. “I don’t think I should apologize for getting you drunk on Agreggio.”

“It _was_ a very nice wine,” Merrill admitted. She drank from her teacup. “Do you humans usually bring gifts when you’ve wronged someone?”

“If we’re nice, yes,” said Hawke. “And I felt bad for getting you shitfaced, so.” She gave Merrill a box. “This one’s yours.”

“Who’s the other one for? Sebastian?”

“No, Merrill. If he is invited to my birthday and chooses not to attend because he’d rather take confessionals and stay away from temptation, then I’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

“He didn’t want to come? And I thought you hadn’t invited him!” Merrill’s eyes were wide with astonishment. “I really do not understand the Chantry. Why would you give up on being with a friend in order to take confessionals?”

“And _that_ , Merrill, is why you get cupcakes and he doesn’t.”

Merrill grinned mischievously. “So, the cupcakes are for Anders then?”

With a raised eyebrow, Hawke examined her friend’s face. “You and Isabela have been gossiping, haven’t you?”

Merrill tried to disguise her blushing by lifting the teacup to her face. “It’s kind of fun,” she bashfully confessed.

Hawke threw Merrill a playful look of disapproval before finishing her tea. “Well then, Merrill, I’m off to deliver the last batch of cupcakes. And don’t giggle. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” the elf said. “It’s just… it’s fun.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Oh, I bet it is.”

As she left, she was sure Merrill was going to tell Isabela she was bringing Anders cupcakes. They didn’t really care that she had brought them all cupcakes – they had the minds of gossipers, after all – but then again, she was partly at fault. She _was_ looking forward to bringing Anders the cupcakes.

It really was a hopeless crush - a silly, stupid crush fueled by all sorts of unrelieved tension. The attraction between her and Anders had been obvious from the start, but attractions often came and went. What Hawke hadn’t been expecting back then was that that attraction would escalate to something else. Something more powerful, something so utterly compelling she doubted she could ever live without it again.

The sole memory of that kiss was enough to give her shivers. Hawke had thought a taste of his lips would have made things easier for her; she had been wrong. She wanted to feel his mouth on hers again, wanted to run her fingers through his hair, wanted to be held against him, wanted to feel his skin against hers.

Hawke arrived at his clinic and when her eyes fell on him, she found it hard to breathe; she felt her cheeks heating up. She was blushing.

“I come bearing gifts!” Hawke joyfully announced, trying to mask her feelings as she barged into the clinic.

Anders, who up until that point had been writing something, quizzically looked up at her. It was the first time he’d laid eyes on her ever since the little incident on her birthday. Hawke set the box she had been carrying in front of him and eagerly awaited him to open it. Anders complied and was mildly surprised to find out his gift were six small cakes covered in colorful frosting.

“They’re a formal apology,” Hawke explained, “For what you had to put up with on my birthday.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” said Anders.

“I still want you to have the cupcakes,” insisted Hawke. “I’m sharing their deliciousness with the world and I don’t want you to miss out on it!”

Anders looked at the box with mistrust. Hawke picked up on it immediately and quite frankly, it hurt. “Why are you so glum today, Anders?” she looked at what he had been writing and her mouth opened in an “o”. “You’re writing a manifesto again,” she realized.

“Another one, yes,” Anders said. “The mages’ oppression keeps growing. We have to take action.”

Hawke tapped her chin with a pondering finger. “I had Templars at my door the other day, actually; wanted to know if I was aware of any freelance magic in the area.”

Anders shifted in his seat; she wasn’t sure if he was curious or concerned. “They went to your place? What did you tell them?”

“I told them to take a hike, naturally, and because I get along so well with the Viscount, they did.” Hawke said.

“But if they’re coming after you-”

“They aren’t.”

“Still… Someone must have leaked you are an apostate. We have to find that person. We have to-”

Hawke recognized the shine on Anders’s eyes. That ardent fervor, the ever-consuming will to battle the Templars… Justice was almost taking over. “We don’t have to do anything. Calm down.” She scooped a bit of frosting from one of the cupcakes with her finger and held it close to Anders’s mouth. “Just try the frosting, will you? It’s strawberry.”

“Hawke…”

“Please,” she insisted.

“You’re just teasing me again,” Anders said, looking down at her finger.

Hawke shrugged. “If you don’t eat that frosting, I will.”

She saw it then, that devilish glint in his eyes that was Anders’s and Anders’s alone. “And miss out on trying the frosting?” he said. “No way.”

His hand wrapped around hers and he brought her finger to his mouth. His tongue danced around her flesh as he licked her finger clean. “It’s very good,” he said. “A bit too sweet, but still, very good.”

Hawke tried to force a smile. “I told you.” She knew that right now, Anders was here, with her, but Hawke was worried of the day when he no longer would. She was worried about him, about his endless need to fight for Justice, about his relentless will to free mages. Hawke tenderly cupped his face with one hand.

“You have to stay in control, Anders,” Hawke heavily whispered. “If you lose yourself to Justice, then all you’ve been fighting for will be for naught.”

“What are you trying to say?” He sounded offended. Hawke bit down her lip.

“Just… Stay with me.” Her eyes were downcast and her cheeks were pink. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it if Justice swallowed you whole.”

Anders covered the hand she had on his face with his own. “Don’t worry about me, Eleanor.”

She shook her head and removed her hand. Anders’s skin immediately felt cold without its warmth. She nodded towards the manifesto he had been writing. “Just promise me you’ll be careful when smuggling mages out with this new group of yours.”

“I’m always careful, Hawke.”

“No. Sadly, you are not.” Sighing, she picked up a cupcake and sat on his table; she then took a small bite out of the cake, her face lighting up with instantaneous sheer delight. Anders wondered how much of it was her trying to mask her sadness. “You really have to eat one,” she said, abruptly changing the subject.

“I do,” Anders agreed. If trying a cake made her happy, then he would do it. For her, just to see the worry wiped from her face, he’d do it. He took a cupcake as well, dark red with a creamy white frosting. “What’s this one made of?”

“Red chocolate; the frosting is cream cheese.”

Anders bit into his cupcake. It was incredibly rich and the cream cheese provided a nice contrast against the chocolate. “They really are good.”

“Told you so,” said a stuck-up Hawke.

“What’s the one you’re eating?”

“Chocolate chip cookies.” Hawke took a larger bite out of her cupcake before extending it to Anders. “You should try it.”

Anders obliged. “Interesting,” he commented. “It’s chunky.”

Hawke kept on slowly devouring her cupcake. “And that’s why I love it.” She closed her eyes for that last bite, rolling the cupcake around her tongue to savor it wholly. She looked painfully sultry as she licked the frosting off her fingers and when she was done, Hawke made a little sound of contentment. “I swear to the Maker… These cupcakes are a tease.”

Looking at her figure sitting across his desk, legs crossed, Anders couldn’t help but say, “Not compared to you, they aren’t.”

Hawke chuckled, taking yet another cupcake from the box. This one was probably vanilla, with white, sugary frosting. She peeled back the small, paper liner at the bottom and Anders felt his breath catch when licked a bit off the frosting.

A tease. That was exactly what she was: a complete, irresistible tease.


	4. Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And since we all know Anders cannot tell where he ends and Justice begins, I think we can all safely assume he has either very severe cases of depersonalization or flat-out Dissociative Identity Disorder.

# Flowers

 

The flowers in Hawke’s porch were blossoming, signaling spring had finally come. In her hand she held a piece of Anders’s latest manifesto, a grueling piece of evidence that he was indeed trying to start a revolution against the Templars.

Hawke hated the Templars as much as the next mage; having lived her whole life in freedom, she dreaded being stuck in a Circle… But sometimes, she had to admit Anders went overboard with his anger and she worried that he would be caught while trying to smuggle mages out of the Circle. And between losing Anders to Justice and losing him to the Templars… Hawke wasn’t sure she knew which alternative was better.

Concern was eating her over. She quickly scribbled a not and called Bodahn. Within seconds, the dwarf was at her door. “Yes, mistress?”

She handed him the note. “Go to Darktown and give this to Anders. Tell him it’s urgent.”

The dwarf bowed. “It will be done as soon as I can!” he said.

Hawke thanked him and started reading the manifesto once more. _Why should we be punished for the gifts the Maker has given us? Why should we be chained and controlled and abused like animals? The time of slavery is over!_

She set the manifesto down and gently massaged her temples. Two days ago, the Templars had almost found Merrill; yesterday, it had been Isabela who had gotten into a pretty messy fight at the Hanged Man; now, Anders was trying to get persecuted by the Chantry.

Hawke sighed.

Why couldn’t her friends give her fewer headaches?

Probably because they were her friends, she thought. Hawke had always been extroverted, but all her deepest friendships had never been low-maintenance; mostly because of herself and her magic, but also because she appeared to draw complicated people towards her.

She sat down and gently traced her fingers across the cover of the book Anders had given her for her birthday before she opened it. She was almost done studying the techniques described in there and soon, she’d have to practice somewhere.

She began reading and was so immersed in it that she didn’t realize it was night until she heard a knock on her bedroom door. Hawke blinked and rubbed her eyes. “Come in,” she said. It was Anders and upon noticing he was carrying a bouquet of flowers, Hawke frowned.

Anders set the flowers on top of her desk. “Here, for you.”

“What are those?” Hawke asked, suspicious.

“They’re spring’s first daffodils. One of my patients gave them to me,” he explained. “She told me it was the only way she could repay me, since her husband was a gardener, and claimed my clinic would look nicer and more inviting with the flowers there.”

“And you’re giving them to my why? Your clinic _does_ need a pick-me-up.”

“I like having a poor-looking clinic. It gives it character.”

Hawke picked up the flowers and brought them closer to her nose. “So you’re giving me flowers, Anders.” She smelled the bouquet of daffodils. They had a pleasant, flowery scent. “It’s cute.”

Anders smirked in such an irresistible, charming manner that Hawke found herself slightly embarrassed. She knew he was trying to hold back some sort of comment. “I could say something really corny right now,” said Anders.

Hawke timidly looked down. When he responded playfully, when he had that almost childish expression on his face… Hawke was certain it was Anders and only Anders who was there with her. Knowing that was a funny little squeeze in her heart. “Why don’t you, then?”

“It’s a really bad “I’m making a move on you” line.”

“I bet I’ve heard worse,” she taunted.

“ _You’re_ the one who’s cute, Hawke. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Just that? You disappoint me, Anders,” Hawke joked. “Wait here. I’m going to get a jar of water to put these in.” She left the room and disappeared somewhere downstairs. Anders took the brief time she was gone to examine her desk. The book he had given her for her birthday was almost wholly read. He flipped through it, and was impressed with the notes written on the margins. Hawke was apparently very meticulous in her studying, something Anders had never managed to achieve unless he had really been interested in the subject. Which, in his case, was only one: healing.

He then noticed she had a crumpled copy of his manifesto on her table. He heard Hawke’s footsteps coming up the stairs and as soon as she crossed the threshold of her bedroom door, he stated, “You’ve read my manifesto.”

Hawke put the jar with the daffodils on her table. “I have. And I wish to discuss it with you _after_ dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes. Bodahn is setting up an extra plate for you. And my mother’s having dinner with uncle Gamlen, so wipe that look off your face. You’re dining with me. Unless… You would rather have me eat dinner all by myself?” Hawke childishly pouted. “You aren’t going to do that to me, are you?”

Anders had practically not eaten all day, so he was quite hungry; also, a dinner in Hawke’s manor would surely be better than anything he could eat in Darktown. “Fine, I’ll have dinner with you. So long as we’re not eating kittens, that is.”

Hawke took a finger to her chin and looked up, pondering. “Shame… We had kitties yesterday and Peanut ate all the leftovers. Also I’m pretty sure Bodahn told me dinner would be stuffed quail, so...” She pointed at him. “You’re in luck.”

Anders followed her and, about halfway down the stairs, he muttered under his breath, “Please tell me you were lying and didn’t eat kitties yesterday.”

Hawke snorted. Leave it to Anders to need reassurance on a joke. “Oh, Anders… throw kitties into a conversation and you’re just like an innocent little boy.”

“So you didn’t have kitties for dinner yesterday?”

“No. We had rabbit.”

“Oh.” Anders was pleased. “Good.”

At dinner, while cutting a piece of quail breast, Hawke asked. “I’ve been wondering as of late… But how long can a person be dead until it’s no longer viable to bring them back to life?”

Anders took half of a potato to his mouth and chewed carefully. “Well, it really depends on the conservation of the body, so you have to act as quickly as possible. If the body starts decaying-”

“The person is forever gone,” Hawke completed. “I understand. So should the need arise, bring friends back to life quick.”

“Yes.” Anders sliced a bit of quail and bit into it. His lips broadened in a smile. “Thyme. I’ve missed thyme and it’s just perfect in here.”

Hawke’s eyes widened and she arched her brows while biting into her lower lip. She noticed Anders was avoiding deepening the subject of resuscitation, so she played along. “I’m impressed,” she commended.

“You shouldn’t be. I’ve just had a lot of thyme-seasoned dishes. Isleen used up a lot of it when we were out camping – said it was the perfect herb for cooking wild animals.”

“Isleen as in… the Warden?”

“Yes, her. Very resolute woman and a fearsome mage – reminds me a bit of you, actually.”

Hawke played with her food. “Why don’t we talk about your days as a Grey Warden more often? Or of your travels with Isleen Surana?”

Anders gravely sipped his wine. He seemed deeply saddened for a minute, and his voice was as dark as his eyes. “It reminds me of my cat. Isleen gave Ser Pounce-a-Lot to me and I swear I still cannot believe they made me get rid of him.”

Hawke distractedly threw a bone at Peanut, who had been sitting just a few feet away, impatiently looking at her. She really was with just Anders today – and she was afraid of what would change when she brought up the manifesto later.

After dinner, Hawke asked Anders to come back to her room. “Before we talk about more serious matters…” Hawke softly touched Anders’s chest and looked up to meet his eyes. “I really do enjoy being with just you and I think I might hate myself for what I’m about to do next.”

One of Anders’s brows was raised. “Which is?”

Wordlessly, Hawke picked up the manifesto, waved the paper in front of his eyes before slapping the sheet with the back of her hand. “Are you insane? You already run a free clinic that’s under heavy scrutiny; by posting these around town you’re drawing even more attention to yourself!”

Anders just shrugged. “Worst case scenario, they arrest me and I’m both tried and sentenced to death or tried and sentenced to being turned Tranquil. Quite frankly, I prefer the first alternative.”

Being a mage herself, Hawke too was in constant fear of ever being turned Tranquil. To live feeling nothing or die… she’d rather choose death than live as an empty shell of a person. “Don’t we all?”

“And don’t we all deserve the same freedoms? You’re a mage, Hawke – I know you wouldn’t like to be enslaved like the rest of them are.”

She did feel for the rest of the mages; after all, most of them hadn’t had the luck she’d had and had been sent to Circles at a very young age. “I was lucky enough to be able to grow up with my family, not in a Circle. It’s not a luxury many mages have and I feel terrible we can’t change that. But if I were to take action, I wouldn’t use an in-your-face approach like you. You have to take it easy. You can’t just attack them out of the blue and expect no consequences.”

Anders’s face was contorted in mild anger now. Hawke was sure Justice was slowly surfacing and she hated herself for that. “And not fight for the freedom that’s rightfully ours?” Anders spewed. “Why are us mages faced with injustice every day and those of us who dare to stand up are frowned upon by _everyone_ they know?”

Hawke bit into her lip. He was flat-out accusing her of not caring when, in truth, she cared too much. She cared too much to want him to go on with his crusade without thinking his strategy thoroughly and the thought of losing him… Her voice was soft when she spoke. “I’m not asking you to give up. Not only I have no right to do so, I also know how important this is to you. I’m just asking you to be more careful. That’s all.” She looked down. “I’m worried, Anders. And no matter what you say, I will always worry. I don’t want the Templars to lock you up,” she sheepishly confessed, but, looking at the beautiful flowers he’d brought her, she quickly spoke again to try to lighten up the mood, “Then I’ll have no one to bring me flowers.”

Although her words had somehow flared his temper down, she still sensed some resistance and anger in him. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else will bring you flowers if I’m caught.”

Anders sounded almost hurt. Hawke cursed the fact that she had tried to make light of the situation. It was a self-defense mechanism she used and, despite how often people told her how shallow and inappropriate it was, she couldn’t stop using it. It was the only defense she knew how to wield properly.

She smelled the daffodils once more. She had to make it right, she had to wipe the pain off his voice, she had… “They wouldn’t smell as nice,” she whispered. “And what would be the point of getting flowers from anyone else if all they would do was remind me of you?”

With that, his stance fully relaxed. He calmed down, told himself she wasn’t asking him to give up – she was simply concerned. A part of him pointed out that she was just being selfish. She only cared because she wanted him all for herself, not because she cared whether or not he made significant changes to the way mages were treated. But the rest of him was as selfish as her and he realized that, for her, he would be more careful.

“I’m sorry, Anders,” she apologized. “You were so _you_ today and I had to ruin it all.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I will be more careful from now on.”

“Good,” she whispered. “And you know that, should you ever need anything, I’ll be more than happy to help, don’t you?”

Somehow, the thought of her helping was more hurtful than anything he had ever considered. He did not want that – to put himself at risk was one thing, but to put her as well? No, he could not let her do that. “Don’t get involved Hawke, please. I would never forgive myself if you came to harm.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “We make a deal: I’m more careful and you stay out of it.”

“But-”

“There are no buts here. It’s a non-negotiable deal.”

She pointlessly traced her fingers across the edge of the table, thinking. She turned to him, her eyes huge. “What if you get caught?”

“I won’t get caught. But if I do…”

“I’d just have to break you out of jail, right?” She smiled. “And this part is non-negotiable.”

“Look who’s being cute now,” Anders pointed at her.

“I’m always cute,” Hawke cheerfully shot back. “That’s why you like me.”

Anders chuckled. She could feel Justice receding to the back of Anders’s mind. It made her happy, so happy she felt a slow, steady warmth spreading through her body. “Fine, Hawke. It’s a deal. But only because you’re cute.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she jokingly added.

Anders looked at the fire for a brief moment. “Well, it’s getting late. Is there anything else you wish of me?”

Hawke made a face full of wrinkles. “Oh, Anders. This one’s so easy I’m going to let it pass.”

“All right then,” Anders said between short laughs. “I’ll see you around, Hawke.” He bent slightly to kiss her on the cheek; she did the same to him. Her face was pleasantly warm where he had kissed her and her lips tingled when they brushed against his stubble. After a shared look of restrained desire, Anders began to walk away.

“And Anders?” she called.

At the doorstep, he turned to face her. “Yes?”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

Her heart melted at the sight of his smile. “You’re welcome, Eleanor.” He closed the door behind him and Eleanor looked at the white daffodils on her table. She inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers once more.

She really did not want flowers from anyone else but him.


	5. Cats & Dogs

# Cats

 

There was a cat on her porch, looking at her with its haughty eyes and defiantly licking its paws. Like it was so important and she had nothing better to do than admire him.

Eleanor Hawke really was a dog person. Cats annoyed her to no end. With their superior manners and ever-present indifference, they were the fakest creatures she had ever beheld.

Hawke scoffed as the cat looked at her once more, an “I’m better than you” expression written upon its small snout. Eleanor heard Peanut growling at her side. She put a hand on his massive head. “I know, but the Arenbergs would kill us if I let you eat their cat.”

Peanut yelped sadly and Hawke couldn’t help but scratch him behind the ears. The dog pushed his head towards her hand in contentment. Hawke smiled; her dog was so smart and brave and loyal – unlike _any_ cat. Cats just tricked you into caring for them and then, at the slightest sign of danger, would leave you; they would also scratch you out of the blue.

Hawke was suddenly struck by an impish thought. Looking at the cat, she was reminded of Anders and how much he loved the pesky beasts. And she remembered that one of the things you can’t do with a cat but can with a dog is to take them out for a walk. And since she had some time to kill before she met up with Isabela… “Do you want to go out, my sweet little Peanut? Do you want to go to Darktown and annoy the hell out of Anders? Do you?” Hawke asked in a childish tone. The dog barked in sheer excitement.

At the clinic, Anders was seeing to a boy. Hawke patiently waited by the door and told Peanut to do the same until Anders was finished. Once the boy and his mother had left, Peanut barked and ran to the mage, who grimaced.

“I’ve asked you several times not to bring that dog here,” Anders muttered under his breath. “And still, you insist.”

“Oh, shut up, Anders. Peanut loves you.” She turned to the dog and started speaking in a high-pitched tone. “You love Anders, don’t you, Peanut? Don’t you?”

Peanut replied by pushing his snout against Anders’s hand; defeated, the mage petted him lightly. “You know she brings you just to piss me off, don’t you?”

The dog looked at him with smart eyes. He _did_ know, and he was more than happy to oblige his mistress’s wishes. Anders scratched him under the chin and said, “I wish you were a cat.”

Peanut whimpered. “You’re hurting his feelings!” Hawke exclaimed. “Poor Peanut… He comes all the way just to see you and you’d rather he be a cat.”

“Cats are nicer.”

“They are not! They scratch and mewl and look at you like you’re better than them.”

Anders’s eyes were just slits as he looked at her with disapproval. “Ser Pounce-a-Lot wasn’t like that.”

“All cats are like that. Dogs, however-”

“Only like you when you take good care of them. Or do you think this Mabari would love you as much if you mistreated him?”

“But I would never mistreat Peanut. He’s the cutest dog in all of Thedas!” At that, Peanut scurried to Hawke, sitting in front of her so she could pat him on the head.

“That’s not my point,” said Anders.

“I know. Still, dogs are awesome.” Hawke took Peanut’s head between her hands and scratched it. “They can do all sorts of tricks. Cats can’t.”

“Cats don’t care about tricks. And _that_ is why they are superior.”

“Pff. Like you don’t wish you had a cat who could do this.” Hawke squatted down in front of her dog. “Peanut, shake hands!”

The dog held up a giant paw and touched it to Hawke’s extended hand.

“Good boy!” Hawke squeaked. “Now, lie down!”

The dog obeyed. Anders sighed. “I see no point in teaching an animal tricks.” After all, you just did it to show off, to tell everyone the animal you owned was smart. Cats, on the other hand, were smart enough to know they didn’t need to do tricks.

“You’re a buzz kill, Anders,” Hawke’s criticism was like a sharp needle. He didn’t care about it in this case, though. “Peanut, go bother him!”

The dog jolted up and pounced around Anders, barking all the while. “No, stop! Stop, Peanut, _stop_!”

“Don’t, Peanut! Keep pestering him!”

“No!” Anders shouted so loud Peanut stopped and looked at him with his massive head cocked to the side. He looked at Hawke, all his annoyance reflected on his voice as he spoke, “Really, Hawke, don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Well, it depends… What time is it?” she asked.

“About four. Why?”

“Shit! I’m late to meet Isabela!” She frantically walked around in circles. “I don’t have time to bring Peanut home! Can you dog-sit him for a while?”

“I don’t-” Anders started, but Hawke didn’t let him finish.

“Great! I’ll be back before nightfall.” She knelt in front of the dog and petted him on the top of the head. “I’m going to meet a friend. Behave, will you?”

The dog barked, wagging his happy tail.

Anders groaned. “What are you doing with Isabela anyway?”

“We’re going to buy hats,” Hawke responded along with a flourish of her hand.

Anders shook his head. Both Hawke and Isabela seemed to nurture some sort of passion for hats. They were considered low fashion in Kirkwall so it was beyond Anders as to why they wanted to buy them. “I thought hats were considered bad fashion.”

“I’m…” Hawke raised a finger and then lowered it. “I’m not going to ask how you know that. At any rate, Isabela and I plan on bringing hats back. In two, three years tops, _every_ noblewoman is going to wear all sorts of fancy hats. But can you stay with Peanut or not?”

He sighed. “Fine, I’ll babysit the dog. But tell him to behave.”

“Thank you so much, Anders!” Hawke squealed, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before she left. “I’ll see you later! And you _must_ behave, Peanut!”

She met Isabela at the Hanged Man and together they went to this cute little shop in a lively corner of Darktown. Hawke gasped when they went inside, her eyes falling on all sorts of cute little hats.

She took a vivid pink cloche hat. She tried it on immediately, giddy at how pretty the accessory was. Isabela was next to her, a beret on her head. “I told you this shop was amazing!” she said.

Hawke traded her cloche for a black beret. “Absolutely - it’s really a shame Hightown has no hat shops.” She then picked up a hat adorned with feathers. “A Fascinator! I hear these are very popular in Orlais.”

“All hats are popular in Orlais – unlike in here, where even my kerchief is frowned upon.”

“We so have to change that.”

Isabela picked up what looked like a yellow beret with a small flap. “I’m so taking this one.”

Hawke picked up the Fascinator, white cloche hat with a black ribbon and the same model as Isabela but in pink. They paid up and decided to go eat some honey cake down the street.

They heard a loud, distressful mewl outside the bakery. Hawke investigated around the corner and found it had been from a small, orange-striped cat, which looked like it was starving. Hawke looked at it sideways, distrustful of its wide green eyes. Hawke hated to see animals starving, but it was a cat and cats were fake little things. It could be lying for all she knew.

“Oh, the poor thing!” Isabela said, breaking a piece off her cake. “Here, have a bit.”

“I had no idea you liked cats,” Hawke commented.

The pirate shrugged. The cat was now eating the small morsel of food she had offered it. “Eh… I really don’t like seeing these poor things starving.”

“Neither do I. But it’s a cat. It could just be a glutton trying to eat more.”

“Really, Hawke,” Isabela _tsk_ ed. “It’s an animal. It’s just starving and wants a bit of food. Just try giving it some.”

Hawke cocked a brow. “I really don’t want to risk it scratching me.”

“Please, Hawke. You venture the Deep Roads, kill Darkspawn and all manners of creatures and you’re scared a little cat might scratch you?”

Hawke pointed at Isabela. “Point.” She knelt sown to give a piece of her cake to the cat. First, the animal sniffed her; then it carefully bit into the cake. Once it was gone, it licked Hawke’s fingers, its raspy tongue pretty much tickling her. Hawke giggled and then, out of nowhere, the cat scratched her hand. Hawke yelped, gently nursing her hand. “You foul beast!” she shouted. “Kick it, Isabela! Kick it!”

“It’s probably just because you smell of dog,” Isabela offered. She bent down and gave the cat a bit of cheese. It sniffed it and after the animal no longer had any doubts towards the food, started to slowly nibble at it. “See?” Isabela petted the cat, who purred.

“I hate cats,” Hawke moaned. “Fake little shits.”

“It’s not his fault; it’s instinct.”

“Well, if it’s instinct, then I wish all cats had the instinct of dogs,” Hawke angrily stated.

“Really?” Isabela asked with raised brows. “You wish all cats acted like dogs?”

“No. I wish all cats were dogs.”

 

 

# Dogs           

 

At the clinic, Anders was seething.

Anders hated that dog. First he would sniff him thoroughly, and then he would look at Anders with his small eyes; his pointy ears were shot up, listening as though he understood everything he was saying.

“Peanut… _Sit_ ,” Anders commanded. The dog always sat whenever Hawke told him to, but apparently, he wasn’t about to take orders from someone who wasn’t his master. He just kept looking at Anders with a falsely innocent expression. “Sit, Peanut! Sit” Anders insisted.

He bounced around in circles, happily barking. Anders cursed vehemently, but to his luck, patients arrived and the dog was smart enough to know he had to quiet down. He inspected the little boy, who seemed to be contracting a very ugly infection in his mouth as one jaw was twice the size of the other. He healed him, as he did the woman whose eyes were practically glued together and the little girl who had a very bad case of gastritis.

Then came two men, one of them complaining that he could not hear from his left ear, but before Anders could say anything, Peanut started growling.

The supposedly injured man flinched. “There’s not supposed to be a giant Mabari in here,” he muttered to his companion. “Maybe we’ve got the wrong place?”

Anders frowned. These men were definitely Templars and the dog had picked up on that before he did. “I think you should leave,” he said. “Whatever it is you’re looking for, it’s not here.”

“We know you’re a mage!” the other man said.

“You have no proof,” noted Anders.

“We-” the man made to step towards Anders, but stopped when Peanut put himself between them, still growling. The dog barked angrily at the Templars, who stepped back.

“Maybe we should come back when the giant dog isn’t here,” one of them said.

“Maybe we should,” the other agreed. “Fuck this undercover stuff. I’m never coming back without armor!”

Peanut barked again and lunged towards them. Anders was pretty sure one of them shrieked as Peanut saw them out.

The dog came to him and set at his side. Anders looked at Peanut from the corner of his eye and patted him on the head. “This has changed nothing.”

Peanut looked at him with huge, begging eyes.

“Don’t bother. I still wish you were a cat.”


	6. Sparks

# Sparks

 

 

Sparks flew out of Hawke’s hands. She enjoyed the gentle, tickling feel the sparks caused as they traveled through her skin. They would caress the inside of her hand, and would travel out to her fingertips like little, light pinpricks and then jump out of her skin to fade into the air.

Hawke never understood why magic was deemed a curse. She _enjoyed_ controlling the elements, of mending wounds with a touch, of pushing people with the force of her mind. The feeling those things arose within her was… incredible.

She longed to do magic… and which place was better than Anders’s clinic?

On the way there, Hawke stumbled on a couple of drunks and was asked for money by a couple of kids. It was always the same in Darktown and, fishing a couple of coins from her pockets, she gave the kids a couple of silver coins. When she got to Anders’s clinic, she found him bent over a couple of papers, writing like a maniac. Aside from him, the clinic was empty.

“Please tell me you’re not writing yet another manifesto,” she sighed. Anders’s eyes darted towards her.

“Hawke,” he said, looking at her as though she’d broken him from a trance. “What brings you here today?”

Hawke approached him to sit on the desk. “I wanted to do some good with my magic today. But,” she looked around, holding her arms up in the air in defeat. “You have no patients.”

“It’s rare, but it happens sometimes,” said Anders. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait for someone to show up.”

“Or…” Hawke’s eyes glinted playfully. “I’ll just show you this new trick I’ve learned.” Hawke’s hand moved with a fluid, enthralling rhythm. Fiery sparks began to shoot from the tips of her fingers, which she held a hair’s breadth away from Anders’s neck.

“Fire, eh?” he said with a smirk.

“You know me. I’m all flames.”

She had spoken with a devilish hint to her voice, but Anders, rather than following up on her flirting, became grave and morose. “And the Templars seek to put such flames out,” he whispered.

Hawke tried very hard not to roll her eyes at him. She extinguished the flames in her hand, disappointed. It was getting harder to tell them apart, but Hawke could see Anders was heavily under the influence of Justice now. “Way to kill the mood, Anders.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hawke, but… To see you practicing magic only reminds me of how much harder I have to fight for our freedom. If the Templars ever caught you, I-”

“They’re not going to catch me,” Hawke interrupted. “You seem to be forgetting I put up a hell of a fight.”

“Even the most hardened warriors fall when terribly outnumbered.”

Hawke raised a shoulder. “True. But I’m a very gifted mage.”

“Yet they’d brand you as cursed rather than gifted.”

“They might, but I don’t. I really do think it’s a gift and not a curse as the Chantry would like us to believe,” Hawke stated. “I get that we have to learn restraint and should be wary of demons, but…” She looked at him from under her lashes. “I don’t get why we have to be either prisoners or outlaws. I mean…” Hawke raised her hand and let it glow with blue energy. “My family and I always had to be careful so that no one would find out, and when they would, they’d treat me as though I was something different.” Her eyes moved down to her hand. “Why should I be less of a person because I was born with this?”

Anders wrapped a hand around hers; the blue light was instantly extinguished as she felt him, the mage, rather than the spirit, reaching out to her. “Your knowing magic won’t make you less of a person.”

“I know. But I also don’t want it to make me more than what I am. As much as I love it, I don’t want magic to define me. I don’t want magic to define anyone.”

“One day, it won’t. One day, you won’t have to be caged just because you were born with magic; you won’t have to bow to the Chantry nor submit unwillingly to a Circle.”

“That day is a long ways away from us,” she whispered.

“It might be. But it’s a future worth fighting for.”

She looked down at the scribbled pages of paper. “I know. But sometimes I wish you wouldn’t fight so hard.”

He raised his hand to brush the hair away from her face, tucking it behind Hawke’s ear. “To hear that from one of the reasons that make me fight so hard… It sort of breaks my heart.”

Hawke bit down her lip, suddenly shy. “Looks like I broke your heart before you got to break mine.”

“At least one of us still has his heart untouched.”

“Hm. Unbroken? Maybe. Untouched? I don’t think so.”

She felt more and more of Anders was coming through when he smirked. “Oh really? And who touched that heart of yours?”

“Want to guess?” She brought fire to her fingers once more, but as soon as the flames ignited, Anders held her wrist. “Oh, don’t you dare start things you can’t finish,” he hoarsely whispered.

She brought her face closer to his – so close that her breath brushed his lips. “And who says I can’t finish this?” She smiled the sultriest of smiles. “You?”

Anders didn’t respond. He was much too mesmerized with her, the way she leaned against him, the way she behaved, the way she spoke… Everything about her was enthralling and it was getting harder and harder to resist. It would be so easy, to give in, to finally allow himself another taste of her like he had on that drunken night months ago. He breathed in and her scent intoxicated him.

Sparks of lightning flew between the skin of her neck and his hand. She shuddered and sweetly gasped when the energy touched her. “Electricity?”

Anders tucked his head to the side. “Bit ironical, isn’t it? Considering I’m not very electric...”

Hawke moved to slide against him, and placed a hand under his jaw. She was smiling as she pulled his face close to hers; Anders began to close his eyes, remembering the taste of her lips and that extraordinary feeling of freedom that had accompanied them.

Mixed feelings surged within him, undoubtedly raised by Justice. Anders wanted to kiss her more than anything, but at the same time, he wanted to push her away because she was a distraction. He remembered the night of her birthday, and how they had kissed. What had happened that drunken night, it was something Anders should never have allowed. He had put her at risk by allowing himself a taste of her forbidden lips. That freedom… lavishing and seductive as it had been, Anders would now permit himself to partake upon that taste again.

He pushed her away. “Please…”

She harrumphed as though she had anticipated his move. “You want me, but you don’t wish to see me hurt. I know. Too bad it’s too late for that.” She slipped from the table and faced him directly in the eye.

Her words were a stab at his heart. “Hawke…”

She shrugged. "These moments are nothing but little stabs. But if hurting me for real means you'll finally give in… Maybe one day, when we're free…" she let her voice trail away in order to kiss his cheek. "Maybe then you'll care enough for me to deeply hurt me."

As she walked away, her words echoed in his mind and all Anders wished was for sparks to fly between them once more.


	7. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not apologize for my fangirl-ism.  
> The original title of this chapter was “Song”, but “Jealousy” was so much more fun! The music Owner of Her Heart was shamelessly borrowed from David Fonseca, because it’s a fun song and I love it.

# Jealousy

 

 

It was yet another evening that Hawke had decided to spend at The Hanged Man in the company of Isabela. Varric had unfortunately been unable to join them and had left earlier that day to attend to some sort of business.

Hawke and Isabela were enjoying a cool beer when the door opened to reveal Anders, accompanied by an entourage of around six people.

The mug of beer stopped halfway to Hawke’s lips, such was the surprise. “Who managed to drag Anders to the Hanged Man?”

“Thought you were the only one capable of such a feat?” Isabella asked dryly.

“Quite frankly, yes,” said a wide-eyed Hawke. She took a hand to her heart and pouted. “I feel betrayed.”

Isabella raised a brow. “Think we should meddle?”

“Oh, definitely. I want to know who Anders’s new friends are.”

So, with beer mugs in hand, Hawke and Isabela approached Anders’s table.

“I wasn’t aware you had any friends besides us, Anders,” said Hawke. She looked at him with puppy dog eyes and mewled, “I’m quite hurt.”

“Well, _we_ weren’t aware Anders kept such _good_ company either,” immediately said a man with brown hair and dusky green eyes. Hawke noted he was rather pleasant to look at and, from the nudge Isabela gave her, she realized the pirate thought the same. The man got up and extended a hand. “I am Lawrence.”

Hawke took his hand. It was very soft, as though he had never used it for heavy labor. “Eleanor Hawke.” She nodded over her shoulder. “This is my friend Isabela.”

Lawrence bowed. “I’ve seen Lady Isabela around. You, however…” he let his voice trail off for a moment. “I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing you, Lady Hawke.”

Hawke shrugged. “You mustn’t have been looking. I’m _around_ all the time.”

He laughed a very sonant laugh. Taking her hand, he kissed. “No, my lady… I believe I have been looking for you all my life.”

Hawke burst out laughing. The cheesiness of his remarks was astonishing and, almost as an afterthought, she stole a look at Anders for a moment and noticed he was looking sideways at Lawrence, who had sat back down beside him.

“He’ll flirt you to your grave, Hawke,” Anders remarked without a single hint of amusement to his voice.

Hawke looked at the mage. “It’s okay. I never get flirted with anymore,” Hawke complained in a low, sultry tone. “I sort of miss it.”

Anders rolled his eyes and, if Hawke had been suspicious of it before, she was now completely certain. “Cute,” Isabela whispered into her ear. “He’s jealous.”

Hawke gave Isabela nothing but a haughty look in reply, causing the pirate to realize Hawke was doing it on purpose. She smiled; after all, this conniving, bitchy side of Hawke didn’t come out often, but when it did, it was always fun.

Anders proceeded to introduce them to the remaining elements of the group, with a voice that was tainted with displeasure. Isabela looked at the mage questioningly. She had the feeling Anders wasn’t too keen on mixing Hawke with his other friends.

“Lawrence here is also a talented musician,” Anders went on. “He’s even composed a couple of rallying songs,” Anders informed.

“Rallying songs?” Hawke pondered; then, something in her mind clicked. “ _Oh_. They’re that kind of friends.”

“She knows?” an elven woman by the name of Alya seemed outraged. Isabela looked at her with a deadpan face. She, too, knew Anders was part of a rebel group set on freeing mages. It wasn’t _that_ much of a secret.

“We won’t rat you out to the Templars, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Hawke said. “It would be highly hypocritical of me.”

The elf eyed Hawke curiously, but it was Lawrence who spoke, “You are a mage, Lady Hawke.”

Hawke inclined her head. “And one that’s not willing to lose her freedom.”

“Hawke’s an apostate,” Anders explained. “She has been one all her life.”

“Well, if she’s an apostate, then why isn’t she with us?” Another mage, this one named Malek, asked. He looked her over with a piercing gaze, as though he was gauging her value. “She dresses well, so despite the place we found her in, I’d say she lives somewhere in Hightown.”

“So true,” Hawke said. “You would have been a good merchant. No one would be able to fool you with false gold. But alas…” From behind, she threw her arms around Anders’s neck. “I’m afraid rebellion is not for me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Alya.

It was Anders who spoke then, with a deep, resonating voice and eyes like burning coals. It was not Justice taking over, but rather, something else. “She is not with us because I do not want her to.”

The air around the table grew thick with tension. Isabela looked at Hawke, who had a puzzled expression about her face. This side of Anders… Hawke had never seen it. It sounded more dangerous, thirstier and angrier. The mage quickly shook her head and opened her mouth to speak. “But don’t worry; I have Templars at my door all the same.” Hawke was nonchalant, visibly trying to lighten the mood. “I think one of them has even developed a crush on me.”

If that was true, it didn’t come as a surprise to Anders. With her bright face and contagious laughter, it was easy to have a crush on Hawke – even if you were a Templar. Lawrence seemed to read his thoughts, for he said “As if it’s hard to get a crush on you, Lady Hawke.”

“Why, you would fancy a story of forbidden love between a Templar and a mage?” She looked at Anders then, her eyes sly and shrewd. “I fear that won’t happen. No Templar will ever hold my heart.”

“Then I have the perfect song for you,” Lawrence said. “It’s from a play called _The Conqueror_ and this particular piece is about a very lovely lady who entrances the hero. She gave him several tasks, and out of the need to be with her, the hero obeyed. He slew a dragon, hoping it would win her love, but in the end, she was only playing with him.

“This particular segment is called _Owner of Her Heart._ ”

Lawrence produced a small mandolin from his robes and began to sing. Despite the hero never getting the elusive lady who had enthralled him, the tune was pleasant and lively. Lawrence’s singing voice was also very pleasant. Hawke sat on Anders’s lap and placed her elbows on the table to lean towards the musician sitting next to her. She felt Anders’s arm snaking protectively around her waist and she couldn’t help but smile. There were times when he pushed her away, but there were others when he felt threatened and couldn’t hold back his emotions.

It seemed that Justice wasn’t as strong as Jealousy.

When Lawrence stopped, she commended him. “You do have a very nice voice,” she said. “I bet that when the inns are full, you still manage to get a warm bed.”

Lawrence bowed his head. “You are as witty as you are beautiful,” he said. “A rare jewel, no doubt.”

Hawke giggled. Anders’s grip around her waist tightened as he brought her closer. There were more songs after that one, and beer, and more of Lawrence’s corny flattery. Anders did not like it. He did not like the way Hawke laughed at his cheesy comments and he did not like the way Lawrence looked at her.

Something in him told him he had no right to be jealous, not when he had spurned her several times. Yet the rest of him… the rest of him _burned_ ; burned from the head of her body, the flames in her voice, the sparks on her touch. Justice tried to spring forth, but his jealousy was so fierce, the spirit didn’t dare to cross it.

And then, when he was fetching a beer, just as he felt he was about to explode, there was her hand, on his face, and her breath on his ear. “I also don’t want to lose you to jealousy.”

After that, Hawke kissed his cheek and strutted out of the tavern, her head held high and Isabela by her side. The anger he had felt had subsided with her words, but still Anders felt Lawrence’s eyes beside him, burning into Hawke’s figure, and it drove him mad. “She’s quite the pretty thing, Anders,” Lawrence commented. “If you don’t catch her, someone will.”

The flames licked at his soul again and Anders realized that, unfortunately, Lawrence was right. If he kept on turning her away, she would eventually turn to someone else. And to think about it... it was enough to break his heart.


	8. Hurt

# Hurt

“How you manage to squeeze into my dresses, I’ll never know…” Hawke mused while Isabela, donning a gown made of blue silk, looked herself in the mirror. It was a very elegant piece of clothing, with a deep V-neck, with a ribbon of ivory silk for a belt just beneath the breasts. The dress was cut high in the front and cascaded all the way to the floor in rivulets of elegant cloth. Hawke had bought it for a meeting with the Viscount, and in her it was provocative, yet demure. In Isabela, with her much bigger breasts and curves, it looked downright skimpy.

“Please let me find you something else,” Hawke sighed. Isabela looked over her shoulder. “What for?” asked the pirate. “I like how this one fits.”

Hawke grumped. Somehow, she had forgotten Isabela _liked_ skimpy. “What do you want that dress for anyway?”

Isabela fluffed her hair. “Oh, you know. I get tired of my clothes from time to time…”

“There’s a man involved, isn’t there?” Hawke shrewdly deduced. When Isabela only replied with a lopsided smile, Hawke sighed. “Of course there is. There’s _always_ a man involved when it comes to you.” She crept towards Isabela and rested her chin on the pirate’s shoulder. “So… Who is it?”

“No one of relevance.” Isabela brought her breasts up and then released them, seeing how they looked best. “Anders’s pretty friend, if you must know.”

Hawke arched a brow. “Lawrence?”

“Yes.”

“The one that was hitting on _me_ the last time we saw him?”

Isabela pointed at Hawke. “Exactly. And it was the last time _you_ saw him; he comes to the Hanged Man often and we’ve had some… chance encounters.”

“Well, if you’re taking that dress to the Hanged Man, it’s a waste,” said Hawke. “You’ll wind up ruining it with stale beer.” Hawke grimaced, trying not to think about what would happen to her dress. “Or worse.”

Isabela waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about your dress. I’ll return it intact.” She opened the wardrobe once more. “Now, we have to pick _you_ one.”

Hawke frowned. “I’m not going to the Hanged Man in fine silks.”

“You _are_.” Isabela picked a long, sleeveless red gown, simple and elegant. She held it in front of Hawke before putting it pack and producing chemise, a corset and a yellow skirt. “I’m not wearing that,” Hawke stated.

With a grunt, Isabela put the outfit back. She then held a flowing turquoise dress in front of Hawke. “This one, then.”

“ _Fine_.” Hawke took the dress. “But it’s a waste of good clothing. If all you want is to have sex, your old clothes would suffice.”

“True, but I like to dress up once in a while,” Isabela said, her eyes wondering around the room. “And you’re going to keep me company in my overdressed adventures.”

“Why can’t you bother Merrill with these things once in a while?” asked Hawke as she undressed.

“ _Because_ , Eleanor dear, her clothes won’t fit me. And believe me, I have tried.”

Hawke snorted, her clothes now on the floor. She pulled the turquoise dress over her head and turned her back to Isabela so that the pirate could lace her bodice. “I’m surprised you haven’t managed to corrupt her – surprised _and_ glad.”

“You mean you’re glad I haven’t corrupted her the way I’ve corrupted you?” Isabela laughed heartily as she tugged at the lacing. “Merrill’s way too sweet for me to corrupt her. It’s what makes her so endearing.”

Hawke frowned. “And I’m not sweet, that’s what you’re saying.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.

“No, Eleanor Hawke. There’s a sweetness to you, but most of it ends up being wasted on Anders.” She pulled the lacing, causing it to be so tight it stole a breath from Hawke’s lungs. “Sorry – too tight. Anyway, you’re different, Hawke, from Merrill and from everyone else - which is why I’ve had so much fun turning you over to my side and dragging you along with me.”

Hawke smiled. “Aw, Isabela… I’m touched.”

Isabela tied a knot in the lacing and tapped Hawke on the shoulder. “What can I say? You’re fun to be around. Also, you’ve got a pretty wardrobe.”

Afterwards, Isabela also decided to steal a bit of Hawke’s perfume, dabbing both her wrists and neck. “What about make-up?” asked Hawke.

“I don’t need make-up,” replied Isabela.

“But you need a three-sovereign dress.”

“Yes.”

Rolling her eyes and groaning, Hawke followed Isabela out of the room and… not to the Hanged Man. “Why are we coming here?” Hawke inquired as they stepped through the door that led to the Blooming Rose. “I thought we were going to the Hanged Man!”

“I never said we were,” Isabela said. “Now come on in. I don’t want to keep Lawrence waiting.”

“You said you’d meet him in a _brothel_?” Hawke’s face was livid with disbelief. “What the hell, Isabela!”

“It’s only until dinner. Then we’re going to eat…” Isabela deliberately stopped before uttering the next word. It was only when Hawke furrowed her brows that she went on. “Out. We’re going to eat out and so are you.”

“And be either the third element in a threesome or a third wheel?” Hawke shook her head. “No thank you.”

“Who said I didn’t ask Lawrence to bring someone to keep you company?”

Hawke nearly bit her tongue in surprise. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hanged open for a moment. “You… didn’t.”

Isabela swept her hand ahead of her as though she was pulling a curtain to reveal something behind it. “You bet I did.”

“Ladies,” Lawrence greeted them, getting up from his chair and spreading his arms. He and Isabela exchanged looks of complicity and a lopsided smile tugged at Lawrence’s lips. He then turned to Hawke and kissed her hand. “Lady Hawke. For someone who’s around a lot, I find that I rarely see you.”

“You’ve just never been at the right place at the right time,” Hawke said playfully. She looked down at Anders, who was sulking in front of a glass of water. “They dragged you here as well, I see.”

He took a long, almost scouring look at her. Hawke felt his eyes burning into her and she wondered what was wrong with him. “You’re way too well dressed,” was Anders’s dry remark.

“She looks fabulous,” Isabela chimed in.

“Isabela make me dress like this.” Hawke’s tone was accusing. “And I did not know where we were coming.”

Anders snorted. Hawke brought her brows down; there was _definitely_ something wrong with him. “Anders here is in a bad mood today,” said Lawrence, lightly nudging the mage’s arm. “I made him get out of the clinic sooner than he wanted to.”

“People need my help-”

“Half an hour won’t make a difference – not when it’s to meet with such beautiful ladies.”

“And these beautiful ladies would like a drink. At least I would,” Isabela said. “What do you want, Hawke?”

“A glass of wine.”

Isabela nodded. “Come with me, Lawrence?”

The mage followed her to the bar, leaving Hawke alone with Anders. He lazily looked up at Hawke, who sat down opposite him. Sensing he was tense, she decided to lighten up the mood. “It’s Isabela. What did you expect?”

“Not to be dragged into a brothel.”

“Come on, Anders. They didn’t do it to spite you,” Hawke said, softly.

“I think they did.”

“My, you’re in a bad mood today. What gives?”

Anders just looked at her with his brown eyes. His gaze traveled throughout her body and it was so intense it sent shivers down her spine. “You look too good.” His voice was sandy, hoarse. “Too good…”

“Anders, what’s wrong?” Hawke reached for his hand, but he just drew it away. Her chest tightened and a breath was caught on her throat. What was this? What was Anders doing?

“Nothing is wrong, it’s just… This little ploy of Isabela and Lawrence has made me realize…” Hawke waited for Anders to finish his sentence, but it was in vain. For the next couple of minutes he didn’t say anything.

The air between them was thick and Hawke didn’t know why. She wanted to find out, but suddenly, she was too afraid to ask. Instead, she looked around the main room of the brothel to see if she could spy either Isabela or Lawrence, but she couldn’t find them anywhere. “I think they didn’t go get drinks,” she realized.

“I think they’re conspiring against us,” Anders sharply said, both his nose and forehead in wrinkles.

Hawke detected a queer note on his voice, but she wasn’t sure she agreed with him. “Honestly, Anders, I think they vanished for a quickie.”

The mage sighed. “That, too.”

“Yeah…” Hawke but her lip as a wave of emotion passed through her face, drawing a melancholic expression upon it. Anders asked her about it and she sighed before looking at him with those bright blue eyes of hers. “Do I really have to tell you?”

Anders said nothing. Eleanor Hawke crossed her arms over her chest and, for a moment, Anders thought she was going to give him a cute pout, but the cute pout never came. Instead, her face was somber, drawn and sad. “Sometimes, despite my friends, I feel lonely,” she confessed. “Like now. I’m surrounded by people and yet, I feel lonely.”

Suddenly, Anders’s morose mood was replaced with heavy guilt. He felt as though there was a hand around his heart, squeezing it ever so tightly. He should have expected Hawke to feel that way, but to hear her actually say it…

“The problem is, _you_ keep sending me mixed signals. Sometimes you look at me as though you want to eat me, but there are other times when I sense you’re almost angry at me for just being there.”

“Hawke…”

She held up a hand. “Let me finish.” She liked her lips and looked at the ground. “I’m not sure I can wait around forever. It just hurts to look at you; it hurts when I talk to you… hell, it hurts just to be near you.”

That was it. The truth Anders had hoped she’d realize and everything he had never wanted to hear, all at once. He was hurting her, he had always been hurting her, and she was finally drawing the conclusion that she shouldn’t be with him.

That was what he had told her to do, countless times. It was the right thing… wasn’t it?

“Then… I’m not sure we should see each other so often,” Anders said, his voice thick with anguish. It was what was best for her; he had thought she was fine with how things were, that her flirting had been more of a game than anything else, but… He had been hurting her all along.

Eleanor Hawke was hurting and it was all his fault.

And if he had to choose between a cause he had fought so hard for and her… Anders was not sure he was able to choose her.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” Her voice was wispy, almost ethereal. She took a moment to drink him in with her eyes and, without uttering another word, Hawke got up and left. Minutes after, Isabela and Lawrence showed up, both of them still fixing their clothes here and there.

“Where’s Hawke?” asked Isabela.

“She left,” Anders replied. _And I don’t think she’ll be coming back…_


End file.
